Just A Week
by Baseball Idiots Rule
Summary: It all starts when a certain someone gets out of bed for a midnight snack. It starts on Monday morning, it ends Sunday night. Follow Gokudera and Yamamoto on a single week - normal, or not, is what I've left you to decide.
1. 3:09 AM  3:41 AM, Monday Morning

(A/N~ I do not own Reborn. Purely. At All. If I did, then Yamamoto would NOT have been blasted by Kaoru. Trust me.)

**(Monday Morning, 3:09 – 3:41)**

The groan and creak of the mattress as Yamamoto got up from their double bed, followed by the soft shuffling of his feet across the hardwood floor roused Gokudera. The shriek of the door swinging on its hinges accompanied by the blinding yellow tinted light that poured into the room caused the roused Gokudera to flinch, and let loose a few brazen cusses as well as a pillow at the door's frame.

Hissing, he turned on his other side and glared at the light that was cast on the wall in a very door-shaped manner. Screwing his eyes shut in annoyance, Gokudera reached a hand out to grab his pack of cigarettes and his storm ring. Without opening his eyes, he pulled a cig out, ignited his ring, scowled at the distant crashes heard from the kitchen, lit the cigarette, and slapped the ring and pack back on the night stand.

He shifted into a sitting position and took a drag, then smoothed his tangled hair back as he exhaled the heady smoke. He sat and dragged and exhaled for quite awhile before the sound of Yamamoto's feet scraping against the ground greeted him again.

"You couldn't fucking turn the light off?" he shot at the other around a cloud of smoke. The door slammed shut and the almost comically slow shuffling started up once again. The bed squeaked and tilted Gokudera slightly as Yamamoto sat down, irritating him more. "What the hell were you even doing?" he growled.

"Toast." Yamamoto mumbled tiredly, and then the crunch of his chosen midnight snack (as well as the crumbs now scattered across the bed) hit Gokudera's nerves.

"Seriously?" he exclaimed, shoving at the other. "You'll get crumbs everywhere! Why the hell are you eating NOW, you had salmon! You've neve…" he was cut off as a piece of dry, crisp, burnt toast hit his face. "…What."

"If you can smoke, I can eat toast." Yamamoto mumbled through his mouthful.

Gokudera's jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. "Bullshit." He grabbed blindly for Yamamoto and shoved the lit butt of the cigarette against his skin. The sharp yelp he raised made him smirk triumphantly.

"I-it was just toast…" the muffled speech of Yamamoto's wounded pride made Gokudera's smirk grow two times larger. "You didn't need to burn my cheek…" Gokudera's face dropped.

"…Sorry," he muttered as he turned over to deposit the toast in the trash, and after a moment's thought, to extinguish the cig in the ashtray next to the pack. Without another word, he settled beneath the covers. He waited for the shift of the mattress that signified that Yamamoto had lain down, but it didn't come. Gokudera sighed heavily. "What now?"

A few seconds of silence passed before the other responded, "… Toast, Hayato."

"It's in the trash can." Gokudera kept himself from grabbing said trash can and shoving Yamamoto's head into it so he could go toast bobbing.

"What?" came the broken reply. "But, but…"

"Eat your freaking toast tomorrow, idiot."

* * *

(And so it begins~)


	2. 5:02 AM  5:23 AM, Monday Morning

(Chapter two: start. As before, I do not own Reborn!)

**(Monday Morning, 5:02 – 5:23 AM)**

The alarm clock was harsh on the hungry boy's ears. Only two hours ago he had toast for a total of two minutes, just to have it taken and thrown in the trash. Yamamoto stared aimlessly at the ceiling, not bothering to turn the alarm off. That toast could've had Babe Ruth's face burnt into it, and it still would've wound up in the can on Gokudera's side of the bed.

Gokudera rolled over, sending a groggy glare at him. Yamamoto kept his eyes on the plain white expanse above him.

"What're you waiting for?" he grumbled. "Turn the effing alarm off; it's worse than your annoying toast crumbs."

He turned his head to look Gokudera plainly in the face. "Why don't you ask your cigarettes to turn it off?" he sniffed, feeling the burn mark on his cheek stretch. He watched as Gokudera threw the sheets back and glared at him in all of his undershirt-and-jeans glory.

Gokudera got up, walked (or stomped) around the bed, his fists clenched and hair messy. Slamming his hand on the clock, which was flashing 5:06 in bright green, he silenced the headache-inducing sound. Yamamoto stared at him, his face in a stubborn steelfaced pout.

"Why do you even wear jeans to bed, Hayato?" he mumbled stuffily. Babe Ruth toast or not, he was still going to continue the day as normal – his next piece of toast would have Cy Young's face on it, he decided.

"Why do you place baseball?" Gokudera hissed back, climbing over him to settle back on his side. Yamamoto flinched as the bed moved, unused to the feeling. "Do you still want your toast?" Gokudera's voice sounded thick and sarcastic.

Yamamoto sat up, stretching and yawning, flexing his shoulders, feeling the muscles roll beneath his skin. He turned to face Gokudera. "It's not going to be warm, so I'd have to go back to the kitchen and hit the beep-boop buttons on the thing and…" he yawned, stretching upwards.

"Who eats warm toast?" Gokudera muttered as Yamamoto rolled out of bed. Yamamoto shook his head and smoothed his shirt down. He turned to head off to the kitchen, his feet pads tapping softly against the chilly ground.

He shivered as he walked into the linoleum-tiled kitchen nook, making a beeline for the cupboards to pick the bread bag off the shelf. He attempted to pull a piece of bread out, tugging at the disagreeable plastic. He stopped, dropping both bread and bag and tilted his head back, exhaling heavily.

He picked the bread back up and pulled a piece out swiftly. Even if Young couldn't possibly be on the toast, he should still hope, shouldn't he? He stuffed the bread in the confectionary toaster oven and sighed, rubbing his eyes as the distinct ba-tup of Gokudera's shoes came into the room.

"You look stoned." The other commented flatly, ba-tupping into the small kitchen behind the counter. Yamamoto glanced at him; his hair was pulled back and still tangled, and a dirty shirt had been thrown on over his sleeping clothes.

"That's silly, you're the one who smokes, aren't you?" he responded, mustering a tired smile as he twisted the knob on the toaster. "Remind me, why do we have such a fancy toaster?" he mused to Gokudera.

"Bianchi, idiot. It was our house warming gift." he answered. Yamamoto could tell he was holding back a squeamish groan.

"And didn't she give us a cooking book, with her favorite recipes in it?" he built off the answer, enjoying his payback for the cigarette burn. "We should make those cookies she always used to make for your recitals." Yamamoto grinned at Gokudera, whose head was resting on the counter. "Also, I didn't clean the counters yet."

Gokudera leaped away from the counter, his hand plastered to his face. "You mean – you didn't – the frigging… salmon… guts?" he growled. Yamamoto laughed, leaning against the wall.

"Of course I did, Oyaji taught me better than that! Silly Gokudera, sometimes I wonder if Lambo's right when he calls you Stupidera."

Gokudera's face had never been so priceless as his fists twitched towards Yamamoto's neck.

* * *

(And so on. ouo)


	3. 7:56 AM 8:15 AM, Monday Morning

(I don't own Reborn~~!)

**(Monday Morning, 7:56 – 8:15)**

Gokudera swung the door open, entering the unchanging hall outside of the apartment. He stood in the doorway, letting his eyes bore into the apartment's door (Tenth's and the little Sasagawa's) across from theirs, listening to the shuffling sound Yamamoto's wallet made as the boy browsed through it. He picked absent-mindedly at his rings, his mouth starting to hang open with mindlessness.

He crossed the hallway and rapped on the door. There was no response, and he smiled, relieved.

"Oi, idiot, tenth's already gone out with the Sasagawa girl." he called over his shoulder before turning and walking down the hall. Gokudera listened to the clamor that the other was creating as he was rushing to catch up. He swung open the stairway door just as the other emerged, and he smirked as he slammed it behind himself. He stood there, waiting for Yamamoto to barrel down the hall and push his way through the door.

He heard the off mix of light and heavy steps (Yamamoto's steps had been like that since the Shimon clash; oddly enough, no one else commented on it besides Gokudera), and Gokudera threw his weight against the door as Yamamoto slammed into it. The loud bump and the muffled groan indicated his spurious plan had worked.

"That's what you get for lying to me about the salmon, and for eating toast for no reason!" he called through the door, grinning wildly. "Fuck yeah." He turned and began the five flight journey down, giddy on his small victory.

It wasn't long before the door opened and Yamamoto followed after him, his head in his hand. "Hayatooo," he moaned, clomping down the steps unevenly. "That really wasn't nice…" Gokudera glanced up the few stairs he'd descended, still smirking. The other tilted his head back in pain. "I didn't even really hurt yooooou… You burnt me and - … hah." Yamamoto did the unthinkable; he began to laugh.

Gokudera stared at him, his glee vanished. "Why are you laughing. Stop that." He hissed, turning to face the other. Yamamoto kept on laughing in his annoying way, stumbling down a few steps towards Gokudera.

"Th-that's funny, oh gosh, Haaayato~" Yamamoto managed to spit out around his laughter. "I n-never…" he gasped for air, "…knew that you could… b-be so funny!" Gokudera watched as he collapsed into a sitting position on the stairs.

Slowly, he climbed the steps to inspect the cause of the laughter. He stopped, two stairs away, and watched him closely. None of his blathering made any sense, so he retraced what Yamamoto's actions were that morning. He ripped a cigarette out and lit it, switching his determined detective mode on.

Then, Yamamoto pointed at the ceiling and ruined Gokudera's plan to sleuth the situation. As Gokudera's head tilted upwards to look at the image, his eye twitched. Crudely scrawled in large G-script on the ceiling in brown paint was the statement, "Call no man happy till he is dead." Gokudera shook his head, wondering immediately how it got there, who else knew G-script, why (or if) Yamamoto understood it, why he found it funny, and the idea that prompted the perpetrator.

He stood there, dragging on his cigarette with Yamamoto sitting and choking on laughter in front of him. He stood, until Yamamoto began coughing silently and turned bright red.

The PA for the stairs came on. Shoichi's slightly feeble voice fed through. "Ah, uh, Gokudera, is Yamamoto alright? I saw him run into the door on the F5-L camera, and now he looks like he's crying…"

Gokudera gave a thumbs up and a grin to the security camera in the corner, figuring that the gesture meant that the other was okay, since it was coming from the tenth's honorable right hand man.

Shoichi hesitated before asking once more; "You're sure he's alright?" his soft and worried voice was all too tender over the speakers.

He now showed the camera his middle finger, the encouraging grin and thumbs up gone. Gokudera hoisted Yamamoto to his feet and dragged him down the stairs, the hollow thudding of his footsteps and Yamamoto's occasional giggle-gasp echoing throughout the stairway. He sighed, glancing at the burden on his shoulder. "This week is going to be the longest week ever, idiot."

* * *

(Ta da~)


End file.
